What A Show-stopper!
by A Random Person With a Pen
Summary: Clara Oswald was dragged to see a play entitled Doctor Who, where she meets a very charismatic man named John Smith who is also the star of the show. Whoffle. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings.**

**This is extremely AU, with enough Whouffle to end world hunger. Yes, I referenced an actual episode of Doctor Who for the performance. And yes, I did not follow the episode to the tee, but I was close enough. All flames will be used to grill my steaks. **

**I do not own Doctor Who. All credit goes to their rightful owners.**

* * *

"Oh, you have to see this show!"

"Clara, for the millionth time, we already bought you a ticket, and a pricey one at that."

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Clara's college roommates, Reese and Saris, had gone to a musical theater on the other side of town a week earlier. After going through hell to get their hands on another set of tickets, the two young women had been insistent that Clara come with them to see it. Now, it was the day of the show, and Reese and Saris were doing everything in their power to get Clara inside that theater.

It was working. Clara, clearly exhausted with their games, had given every excuse from, "I have to study," and "My parents might not approve of it." None of them seemed to be having any effect. The show started in a few hours, but she was at the end of her rope and simply could not last another minute.

"Fine," she said, making their faces light up with excitement. "I'll go. But don't expect me to be a happy camper!"

Reese and Saris giggled and jumped with delight. Their mission was a success. Clara, however, retired to her part of the dorm and tried to figure out how in the world she was going to make it through the next hours.

* * *

The night did not get off to a good start.

Clara discovered a the most unfortunate moment that her favorite blouse, the one she was also wearing, had somehow acquired a mystery stain, and she was in no position to change. She sat for thirty minutes in Reese's car, which lacked air conditioning and reeked of sweaty gym clothes. She was now standing outside the TARDIS Theater, where she had been for at least an hour, in a pair of high heels waiting to get inside, much to the dismay of her feet.

During this time, Clara caught a glimpse of a promotional poster for the very show she was being forced to watch. It was entitled _Doctor Who,_ starring one John Smith. Apparently, he played some character called the Doctor in a form of a science fiction universe. From the other posters, it seemed that all the productions the TARDIS Theater would host were sci-fi themed.

"Leave it to my roommates to drag me out here," she muttered while in line.

The three ladies eventually made their way inside and were allowed to take their seats, which were indeed expensive. They were escorted by an usher to one of six balconies, and Clara could see the entire theater from her seat. The entire auditorium was decorated with chrome-colored seats and random wires and lights, giving the place a futuristic setting. The door behind the balcony slid open and closed with the press of a decorative button. The curtain of the stage looked more like the viewport of a large space ship. It was even complete with stars that actually sparkled.

People scurried to their seats, eager for the production to begin. She checked her watch, and noticed that it was still a few minutes until it actually started, so she spent her time reading the program provided by a woman at the gate. She only drew her attention away from it after the lights began to dim.

Saris could hardly contain her excitement. "It's starting. It's starting!"

Someone, obviously a male by the sound of their voice, began to speak.

"Ladies and gentleman, the TARDIS Theater is proud to present to you the critically-acclaimed, original musical, Doctor Who!"

There was some minor clapping from the audience below. Clara watched the curtain rise as the instrumental began to play. A spotlight illuminated a young boy building a snowman and an older couple. Despite the essence of the whole place, the three actors were dressed in clothing distinctively popular in another time period. She groaned as the singing began.

_"Honey."_ It was the woman. _"Wouldn't you rather go and play with the other children?" _Other actors, the children she was referring to, were shown throwing snowballs at each other.

"No!" the young boy yelled. _"They're foolish!"_

The woman turned and walked off stage with the man, both of them singing. _"He shouldn't be so alone. It's not right. It's not healthy." _

Saris was rocking in her chair, a smile painted on her face. Clara nudged her to get her to calm down.

The boy sang another verse.

_"Why should I go an play with the others?_

_They're immature, nothing like me. _

_I should not have to fool with those people. _

_I don't need other to be happy."_

Clara shifted in her seat. This was going to have to get better.

Next, a tenor repeated the verse. Clara immediately knew it had to be the snowman since there was not anyone else on the stage. The boy acted surprised when he figured out the same thing.

_"I don't need anyone else."_

The ominous snowman voice copied his words.

_"I don't need anyone else." _Both voices were now working together, and they completed the next two verses with a duet.

Clara was reminded of a Disney movie that she had seen recently, but the scene ended before she could make a witty remark about it.

* * *

As much as she would hate to admit it, Clara Oswin Oswald thoroughly enjoyed the production.

She was awfully fond of this Cecilia character, whom she thought bore so much resemblance to herself. The Doctor had a voice like silk, and tears grew in her eyes every time she heard him sing. Oh, and that lizard woman Madame Vastra! Her solo sent shivers down her spine, not to mention the part when she revealed her sword.

_"He used to be kind._

_He used to be the savior of worlds._

_But he has been hurt. He has suffered great losses. _

_He prefers his isolation. _

_We, his friends, help him in any way we can."_

It turns out that the boy with the snowman grew up to the embodiment of the Great Intelligence, who became the antagonist of the show. It was exciting, thrilling even. But, Clara's heart almost broke when she saw her favorite character Cecilia, die on Christmas Eve.

She really did cry, along with Saris and Reese at the scene of Cecilia's funeral. However, when the Doctor looked closer at her tombstone, he suddenly had an idea and ran away to his space ship, a police call box conveniently called the TARDIS. It suddenly changed to present day, where she saw Cecilia walking in an overgrown version of the very graveyard she was buried in!

Clara was ready to leave the theater and go back to her dorm. But, as her luck would have it, fate had other plans for her.

A man, dressed in a business suit, came out onto the stage.

"Ladies and gentleman! Those of who have been here to this very theater know exactly what we are about to do. But, for those of you newcomers, I will explain what this is."

Clara sighed. Couldn't she not just go in peace.

"At the end of the show, we award one lucky person the opportunity to come backstage and meet some of the actors in the show."

Saris and Reese were sitting in earnest, obviously wanting to be chosen.

"We have selected our winner." He held up an envelope and opened up. "Congratulations- CLARA OSWALD!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for your reviews, follows, and favorites. It's chicken soup for a lonely, fanfiction writer's soul, if you ask me. As promised, another chapter! Enjoy, friend.**

**Oh and this chapter is "so fluffy I wanna die!"**

**I do not own Doctor Who. All credit goes to its rightful owners.**

* * *

"Why does she get to go backstage?!" Saris was fuming. "She didn't even want to be here."

Others in the audience looked up at her, since a spotlight had been cast over the balcony, and clapped over her "luck." If they held any sort of grudge against Clara for winning, they were much better at keeping it hidden than Saris was.

Two men, obviously stage hands by their attire, opened the door to where the three women were sitting.

"Miss Oswald," one of them said, a Scottish accent dominating his voice. "Please, come with us."

Clara sighed, rolled her eyes, and reluctantly got up from her chair. She was then escorted down a separate flight of stairs which had been marked as a passage for the staff only. This area was much less appealing than the auditorium as random props and boxes were strewn about the place. All the while, Clara kept thinking about the fact that recently everyone seemed to be dragging her to random places.

Two minutes can feel like two seconds if one is approaching an obstacle that they do not want to face. To Clara, this is the exact amount of time it took her to reach the private area for the actors.

The very first person she saw was John Smith.

Up close, she could see his features better. With half of his makeup already removed, she could see his features as they naturally appeared. He was a little on the short side, but nothing too noticeable. He was extremely slender, enough that a trained doctor might wonder is he was hosting some sort of parasite. His jaw line could practically cut through steel. As he smiled at her, his hazel eyes lit up like the stars in the night sky.

Clara immediately felt awkward.

"You must be Clara," he said, and she involuntarily smiled. "Welcome!"

The actor who played Cecilia came out of the door marked "Jenna." She took one look at Clara and turned and walked away muttering.

"Um-" John giggled nervously. "You'll have to excuse Jenna. She's-well, I'm guessing you saw what happened out there tonight?"

Clara nodded. Jenna had suffered an unfortunate incident during one of the scenes. She was originally supposed to fall from one of the clouds and probably land on a cushion hidden somewhere on the stage. However, it ended up sounding a little more realistic than it was meant to.

"Anyway, don't you want to see the other actors? I'll gladly show you around." His whole persona was inviting, and Clara found it very hard to resist.

* * *

John showed Clara everything from their special effects stations to his personal dressing room. Clara especially enjoyed meeting Neve McIntosh, who was in the middle of removing her mask.

"I particularly enjoyed your solo, Miss McIntosh."

"Oh, did you?" Her face, though still under the façade, was glowing. "I- I hardly ever hear that. Thank you."

After asking for and receiving an authentic autograph of Neve McIntosh, John took her to other places. Once he had assured her that there was nothing else to see or no one else to meet, Jenna came out of the nearby ladies' room with an ice pack on her shoulder.

John's look was ridden with concern. "Are you alright, Jenna?"

She sighed. "Just a hell of a lot of bruises. Is this the V.I.P of the night?" Jenna pointed at Clara.

"Yes," John said. "Clara, meet Jenna, who plays Cecilia in our shows here."

The two women exchanged greetings, and Jenna apologized for having to leave so soon.

"That one- always on the move. Well, Clara, I've given you the personal tour of the whole TARDIS Theater, would you like me to escort you to your vehicle? This city's dangerous this time of night."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Smith." Clara had never met a gentleman like this in quite some time.

* * *

The note on Reese's car was quite direct: **You took too long. Went to get something to eat nearby. **

"Well, how do you like that," Clara muttered.

"We will just have to wait until they get back," John said.

"Mr. Smith-"

"Call me John."

"Fine. _John, _you don't have to stay here."

"Are you kidding? This may be a good theater, but it's not exactly in the best area. Neve once got robbed on her way to her car about three months back. You are not staying here alone."

Clara sighed. Not a word was said for a few minutes. The only movements occurred inside the light bulb of a nearby streetlamp, which flickered every so often.

"Is this all you do? Acting for this theater?"

"Well, yeah. I was in college, and had to drop out. Then I got a job here."

"I'm in college currently," Clara said as-a-matter-of-factly. "I want to be a teacher."

"Oh really? I studied physics. Bit too complicated for an actor, right? Let's just say some unfortunate events happened and now I'm working here."

"That's terrible." These words came from Clara's heart. "How did you decide to become an actor?"

John smirked. "I became a- _dancer_ at a theater a little more mature than this one. And well, the director discovered me there while he was on personal business."

Clara was floored, not to mention surprised that he would even be open about such a thing. "You- you-"

"You can say it, Miss Oswald."

"No. I will not."

"You won't offend me." He looked away and shrugged. "But enough about my life. Moves too fast for me to keep track of, anyway."

Clara leaned against Reese's car. "You could go farther than this you know, maybe something like television."

John laughed slightly. "Thank you, Miss Oswald."

"Please, call me Clara."

"_Clara."_

Two people carrying fast food bags appeared on the other side of the parking lot.

"My friends are here." Clara said, somewhat disappointed.

"Well, it was nice meeting you Clara."

"And you as well, John."

He began to walk off. After he was a few feet away from her car, he turned around. "Hey, Clara. We're putting together another chapter of Doctor Who soon, if you wanted to come and see it."

"Thank you, John. I would love to."

He smiled once more and walked into the darkness of the night. Clara directed her attention back to her roommates, who were now closer to the car.

All the while in that car ride back to their dormitory, Clara ate the sandwich they had bought her and thought about how awesome she knew that next chapter in that show was going to be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Good day. I hope you are well. Once again, thank you for your support. **

**So, I decided to include the song I was listening to when I thought of this story: "The Show Must Go On" by Queen. Some of the lyrics have been included during the show.**

**And yes, I decided to use another episode as a reference for the show. **

**I do not own Doctor Who, nor do I own Queen. **

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Clara personally enjoyed the academic atmosphere college provided. It was the most enjoyable time of a person's life, if once could overlook the stress caused by the sudden overload of responsibility over one's studies. On a normal day, Clara would be walking around the campus, intent on being punctual to a class or, if need be, a lab. Her books would be cradled against her chest, beaten with use by different users.

However, this was not a normal day. (It was a day in which she had no classes scheduled.)

The TARDIS Theater was quite a popular venue, especially among the younger crowds, it would seem. A new show had been launched, just as John had promised. Clara kept calling the theater for almost an hour, trying to beat others in the quest for tickets. When she finally got a hold of someone and purchased her ticket, she was informed that she had gotten the last available seat for that showing.

Clara was now performing a small victory dance, knocking over inanimate objects and causing all sorts of racket.

The door burst open. Reese, sporting newly dyed hair, came into view.

"What on earth are you doing?"

Clara felt her cheeks grow warm. "I- uh, found out that I aced one of my tests." She did not dare tell her the true reason for her sudden happiness.

"Well, pipe down, will you? I'm trying to study." Reese slammed the door shut.

"More like trying to fix your hair color after you messed it up," Clara muttered.

She turned her attention back to a more important concern. With a spring in her step, Clara went over to her computer. She was told by the operator that her ticket would be sent to her email, in which she could then print them out and present them at the gate. Sure enough, a message from the TARDIS Theater was waiting in her inbox.

Her second-hand printer hummed with excitement as it drew in a piece of paper, spread black over the specified places, and spit it out. Clara grabbed the sheet, found a pair of scissors, and began to cut carefully along the lines.

She could not wait until eight o'clock on Wednesday night, where she would sit in row seven and watch the next installment of Doctor Who.

* * *

Reese was busy gathering materials for her paper from almost every library in the city, and Saris was at a church service with her brothers. This left Clara without a ride to the theater. Not letting a minor setback ruin her night, she gathered some spare change and rode the bus, having to switch routes twice.

Clara arrived on time, much to her relief. Thankfully, after she had been seated, a shorter gentleman took the chair in front of her. The view was not as spectacular as the one from the balcony, but at least she could see the stage.

The lights dimmed, and everyone was welcomed to the event. The viewport curtain was raised, and Clara was positive that her heart skipped a beat.

The stage was dark, eerie even. Not one of the spotlights was turned on. No one was speaking or singing. Everyone in the audience held their breath in anticipation, especially Clara.

_Is this part of the show?_ Clara thought. _Is everything alright?_

After what some believed to be an eternity, a voice, delicate, radiant, echoed through the auditorium. She knew it could be only one person: John.

_"Empty spaces, what are we living for?_

_Abandoned places, I guess we know the score._

_On and on._

_Does anybody know what we are looking for?"_

She knew this song very well, for her father used to listen to the band that originally produced it. She was playing the instrumental in her head, even though she had to adjust the music when they moved the lyrics around.

_"Whatever happens, I leave it all to chance."_

_Another heartache. Another failed romance. _

_On and on._

_Does anybody know what we are living for?"_

It was compelling. The acapella seemed to placing the listeners under some sort of spell, and that very spell was about to break Clara's heart. Even though she had very acute knowledge of the Doctor himself, she felt that the rock ballad fit him perfectly. He was singing as if he was trying to stifle tears, whether he was acting or not was debatable. The depressing calm in that dark room could have only meant one thing: the first solo of the Doctor.

_"I guess I'm learning. I must be warmer now."_

He sniffled.

_"I'll soon be turning 'round the corner now."_

He dug deep and sang the next line with all of his heart.

_"Outside the dawn is breaking, _

_but inside in the dark, I'm aching to be free."_

The lights flashed, and the story commenced.

* * *

Clara took a liking to this River Song. Of course, she figured out that Song had occurred in shows past that Clara was not there to see. But, she soon picked up on the backstory, especially since River knew the Doctor's name.

Personally, Clara did not want to know his real name if it caused so much chaos. This created yet another reason for Clara to favor River Song other than the fact that she was simply that amazing. Had she not appeared in spirit form and said the name of the Doctor while the General Intelligence was choking the life out of the Doctor's companions, had she not told Cecilia that her grave marker was a secret entrance, had she not awoken Madame Vastra and Strax from their slumber during that gathering, the entire production would have gone very differently.

They were now inside the dilapidate form of the TARDIS space ship which was serving as the tomb for the Doctor's so-called timeline. The timeline in question was very detailed to be a product of special effects in a small theater, in Clara's opinion. However, given the fact that both the General Intelligence and Cecilia had both entered the Doctor's timeline, Clara was not entirely focused on anything else.

The duet between the Doctor and River Song was haunting, but in a sad way.

_"Say it, like we'll meet again." _Her voice was warm, yet it sent a chill down Clara's spine.

John- or the Doctor- hesitated. _"So long, I suppose."_

As he prepared to jump into the white vortex of light created by the back stage staff, John turned and looked at the audience. He caught sight of Clara, and for a brief moment, they looked each other square in the eyes.

Clara, at that moment, would have given anything to be River Song and to have gotten that kiss.

* * *

**Sorry. Had to put a little personal opinion about The Name of the Doctor in there. Hope you don't mind.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Wow. Once again, I owe you a great a debt. But, hopefully, I can hope to repay you with the next chapter. **

**I have decided to add a little whump into this chapter, so if you like that sort of thing, you should be satisfied. There is also fluff, so if you people like marshmallows, this will be up your alley.**

**I do not own Doctor Who.**

* * *

When they found out, Reese and Saris were not very pleased that Clara had gone to see quite possibly the best show the TARDIS Theater had launched in a long time without telling them. In order to keep them from ripping her head from her shoulders, Clara reserved the two women seats at a showing when the initial buzz of the new installment would have worn off. But, in her mind, they had no reason to be angry, since they were the ones who got her involved in the theater anyway.

Clara was glad when the day for them to see the musical drew near. However, and unfortunate turn of events would put a major dent in those plans.

One day, while Clara was in the recreational room, another student at the college turned the channel on one of the flat-screen televisions to the local news station.

"Good afternoon!" a middle-aged woman exclaimed. "My name is Jane Quazek with channel nine eyewitness news."

Clara was about to direct her attention back to the game of pool she was currently playing with her fellow classmates when the news story caught her off guard.

"We are getting reports that an incident has happened at the local TARDIS Theater"

She almost dropped her rod. The television had absorbed all of her focus, much to the annoyance to the others playing pool with her.

Jane Quazek continued. "Actor John Smith was robbed and beaten outside his car one night after a performance last night."

John's picture flashed on the screen for a few seconds, and footage was played of the TARDIS Theater and the crime scene in the parking lot. Clara was grateful that he had actually waited with her that night.

"One witness, fellow actress Jenna Coleman, told our reporters what she saw that night, and how she reacted."

The screen showed a recording of Jenna, obviously taken the night before while she was still in her Cecilia façade.

_"He said he had to go out and get something from his car,"_ Jenna sniffed. _"He hadn't come back, and when I went out to look for him, I found them beating him up. I ran inside and got the others, and someone called the police."_

_"What did you do after the men left?" _

Jenna took a deep breath. _"I went out there and I tried to comfort him the best I could."_

The screen cut back to Jane Quazek. "The next few shows will be canceled will John Smith recovers at Mercy Hospital. People are urged to stay clear of the off-beat theater until proper investigation has ceased."

The meteorologist was then allowed some screen time, who then gave the forecast for the following days.

"Oswald!" one of the guys playing pool yelled. "It's your turn."

"R- right.," Clara stammered.

* * *

Clara, being the convicted woman as she was, decided to return the favor given to her the night John chose to wait with her. She would have no doubt been in worse condition had she been mugged in that way.

She approached the receptionist desk with a bundle of spring-themed flowers in her hands.

"Who are ya here to visit?" the annoyed woman behind the desk asked.

"John Smith," Clara said, agitation at this woman's rudeness in her voice.

The woman smacked her mint-green gum. "Second floor. Room 216."

* * *

Standing outside John's hospital room, Clara felt extremely guilty, despite the fact that she was not in the vicinity of the theater on the night it occurred. A feeling of dread grew to power in her gut as she wondered what had become of the actor lying on the other side of the door. She opened the door was utterly shocked.

His right eye had completely swollen shut, looking as if someone had covered his eyelids with large amounts of black eye shadow. His nose was bruised, and Clara wondered if it had actually been broken. There appeared to be cuts on his forehead. As for the other areas of the body, she could not tell what damage had been done underneath the hospital gown and synthetic covers.

John, who was looking out the window at the time she entered, was startled when he saw her standing next to his bed.

"C-Clara, was it?"

She nodded. "I heard about what happened. And, I decided to properly thank you for standing with me that night. I am sure I would not have been as brave as you must have been."

He smirked, despite how painful it must have been. "It was nothing."

"Have the others at the theater visited you."

He nodded in the direction at the collection of cards and flower arrangements. "Everyone. And, a few good-cop bad-cop-playing inspectors."

Clara set the flowers on the table with the others. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He shifted, trying to relax. "I wanted to thank you."

"Why on earth would you need to thank me?"

"Number one, for coming to visit me when we have had only one encounter. Number two, for coming back to the theater for the new show."

Clara's heart skipped a beat. "Y-you remember that?"

"Yes, I do, Clara. In all my years working there, I have never met a person who won the tour who I was positive I would see again."

She laughed lightly. "That's quite a statement to make. I thought the inspectors were the ones who were supposed to be making assumptions.

He smiled and looked her straight in the eyes, like he had during the play. They stayed like this for a few moments when a nurse came in.

"Ah! Nurse Rory," John greeted.

"Afternoon Mr. Smith. Afternoon Madam." Nurse Rory went over and began to change the fluid in John's IV.

"I really should be going," Clara announced. "You should rest, and I really need to get to class."

John looked at her. "Clara, another time, perhaps? Once this is cleared out?"

She felt a sudden warm, fuzzy feeling fill her chest. "Of course. I would love to- _Doctor."_

And with that, Clara left Room 216.


	5. Chapter 5

**Oh my goodness, how long has it been? I am so sorry I did not update sooner, with all the finals and the fact that I had to switch schools and the mountain of paperwork... Well, I really have no excuse for the delay. So, I give you the next chapter. **

**I do not own Doctor Who. All credit goes to BBC.**

* * *

"Miss Oswald."

Clara snapped out of her daydream. She had been drawing random things, such as rainbow unicorns and stars, on her notebook while thinking about the TARDIS Theater and if John's recovery was going as planned. She was wondering if they had ever caught the felon, and if it would still be safe for her to go to the next show once they resumed the performances.

"Yes, Professor Song?"

The buff, frizzy-haired professor gave Clara a scornful look. "Would you mind blessing my lesson with your attention?"

Minor giggling arose from the rest of the students. "Sorry," Clara muttered.

Professor River Song cocked her head to one side. 'Perhaps, you could be so kind as to stand and answer a few of my questions?"

Even more laughter came out of the mouths of those present, but the professor quickly quieted her classroom. Clara stood up, straightened out her sweater, and looked her professor in the eye. She was starting to regret taking this course, even though her roommates had both insisted that she take it.

"Miss Oswald." River Song's voice echoed clearly in the spacious room. "Would you be so kind as to identify what ancient civilizations the following ruins belong to?" She pressed a button on the overhead protector.

* * *

Clara walked back to her dorm room with her head held high, pride filling her heart. She had not only successfully classified the ruins, but had even stated the characteristics that represented each civilizations. Thanks to all the time she spent studying, she had received a compliment, or what at least sounded like one, from Professor Song, which was not an easy task.

Reese and Saris both had classes later on in the day, while Clara's schedule kept her running around the campus after the crack of dawn. This allowed to get her homework done in peace, or at least without two catty young ladies begging her to listen to their rants and complaints.

She set her book bag on her bed and sighed. The workload was somewhat lighter that night, thank goodness. She unzipped the bag, made a plan in her head of what she needed to get done first, and pulled out her supplies. Her top priority was Mr. Tennyson's class, Literature.

The overpriced and oversized text book was hard to remove, and Clara ended up slamming it against the cheap desk. The purple notebook, labeled with the class it was meant for, followed suit along with a cheap ball-point pen. The exasperated young woman sat down in her computer chair, knowing that Mr. Tennyson's class was the most difficult one she had taken by far, even though she loved the subject.

Luckily, time was on Clara's side.

Her smartphone, which was set adjacent to her books, rang. She hurried to answer it not only to talk to whoever was calling, but to get that annoying ringtone to shut up. She really needed to change it...

"Hello?"

"Hello." That voice was all too familiar. "Have I reached Miss Clara Oswald?"

"Yes, you have." She smiled. "How on earth did you get my cell phone number?"

John laughed. "The theater has you on 'the list'."

Clara blushed, and she was glad that John was not able to see it. She had signed up to receive messages from the theater whenever a new show was coming out or when tickets were on sale. "You have access to that?"

"Of course I do. Listen, I just got let out of the hospital, and they found that stupid motherfu-"

"John!" Clara interrupted at just the right time.

"Sorry." He paused. "They caught the criminal, and the shows should be starting up soon."

"Oh that's just wonderful!" She had mind to get a balcony seat for the very next performance.

"Yeah." He took a deep breath. "And, if you don't mind, I would like to enjoy my independence from the hospital and the courts."

"Well, I won't keep you." She was about to hang up, but he pleaded for her to stop.

"I'd like to take you to dinner," John said. "As a- thank you."

"We sure are thanking each other a lot," Clara commented. "You free Thursday night?"

"For once." The smile on his face seemed to radiate in his voice. "There's a great Italian place near the Theater. Let's meet up at say, six o'clock?"

She could not believe what was happening, but it was a part of reality. "Sure. I'd love to come."

'It's settled then!" he exclaimed. They both gave their farewell's and hung up.

* * *

Was her dress appropriate? Surely he liked that shade of blue. Why was she overreacting so much to something so casual as a dinner with a friend?

Reese had driven her over to the theater. She kept pestering Clara as to the nature of her little outing, but she gave nothing away. The truth would make its way to Saris, and then she would have two angry John Smith fanatics to deal with. Not that she was any different, but at least she could keep some of her composure around the man.

Speaking of John Smith, he arrived not long after Clara was dropped off. He greeted her with a smile, a "Hello!", and a friendly hug that was quite enjoyable for Clara. He was wearing a rather tight pair of blue jeans: eye-candy in its purest form. His hair was flowing freely, and he had to arch his neck back every so often to keep it out of his eyes. He smelt strongly of manly cologne.

"So, how about we get something to eat? I'm famished."

Clara smiled even wider than what she was before. By now, she was positive she ran the risk of making John uncomfortable, but he was showing no signs of it at the moment. Why was she behaving so weird?

"Me too," she replied, and they both climbed into John's car.


	6. Chapter 6

**I am so excited! I am going to see Rise of the Cybermen and The Age of Steel in theaters on June 16 with my mom! (I think I have successfully transformed her into a Whovian... only time will tell.)**

**I also went to the library today and saw what STRONGLY RESEMBLED the 12th Doctor walking around with a bunch of books. I mean, he was in a business suit and everything. What the Doctor was doing in a library in northern Maryland is beyond me. It was still cool though.**

**I decided to change viewpoints and give John some time in the limelight! I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for all your support. **

**I do not own Doctor Who. All credit goes to BBC.**

* * *

John watched Clara closely. She was overdressed, but he did not necessarily mind. In his opinion, she looked quite nice. Her makeup was barely noticeable, yet still seemed to show the bones in her cheeks, and it took someone who was around a lot makeup and the like to notice that she was wearing it. And, did he smell- lilacs?

They had managed to snag a booth close to a window and away from the other patrons. It was surprisingly quiet; John knew this place to be quite crowded during the dinner hours. The waitress, who was a newer face to him, was friendly, her voice light and peppy as she took their orders.

He turned his attention to the window after the woman left for the kitchen. "You know," he said. Clara looked up at him with a start. "You can see the theater from here?"

Her eyes lit up, and she looked towards the east to see if what he was saying was true. Sure enough, she could see the royal blue spires against the other brick buildings. "Amazing," Clara muttered. "You and the cast come here often."

"Oh, not often." John smiled. "We come here a lot more than that."

She giggled, and that warmed his chest. He had never really been one with the ability to humor people.

The waitress came out with their drinks and set them on the coasters. She then pleasantly asked what each wanted to eat. John let Clara order first before requesting his usual.

Clara took a sip of her soda. "Hey, John."

"Hmm?" He almost spilt Coke on his tee.

"Has the TARDIS Theater always shown the plays related to _Doctor Who?"_

Oh, how he loved to answer that question from the viewers. John smiled and replied, "Yes and no." Seeing that she was somewhat taken back, he continued. "The theater originally opened to serve as a venue for those interested in the science fiction aspect of production. You see, TARDIS stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space. We have produced many of plays related to those standards over the years, but our well-known works are under _Doctor Who."_

She was fascinated by every word that he said, something so rare. A lot of the people in that city were losing interest in the off-beat theaters such as theirs. And that attack proved how dangerous it was to even be out there at certain time of the night...

He took a deep breath. The bruises were still on his back, a reminder of what happened. And he was sure, that even after the dark colors on his skin faded away, the scars in his mind would still be there, even if they had arreseted a suspect and charged him. But he went there everyday. That area. That very parking lot. Because he had to. Because he worked there.

"John? John. John!"

He snapped out of it. Whether Clara had been calling out to him prior, he would never know. The waitress had brought out their food hot and ready to be eaten.

* * *

He had thoroughly enjoyed the meal, as he had countless times before. But, for some reason, his linguine tasted... _different. _Maybe it was where he sat. Maybe it was the fact that he had been eating hospital food for some time.

The walk back to the parking lot was proving to be difficult.

It was not entirely vacant. The theater was putting on a _Torchwood_ showing that night. It was the walk back to his car that was creating an anxious feeling in his stomach. Since he was with Clara, he could not have ran to his automobile, like he did after his come-back show. Instead, he clutched her hand, which she enjoyed, and left no shadow or noise go without examination.

"Gee," Clara said after a few moments of walking hand-in-hand. "Your palms sure are sweaty." She tried to remove her hand, but his grip on her fingers only tightened.

"Don't." He had meant for it to sound like a command, yet it came out more like a nervous squeak.

"Wha-" She stopped herself. She had put two-and-two together. "Ohhh. Hey, how about we jog back. Hmm?"

He looked over his shoulder. "Yeah. That sounds great." That was an understatement. It sounded like a plan composed of nothing but pure logic, however simple it was.

Clara was surprisingly faster than he was, and John struggled to keep up with her. She was leading him, and he was absolutely fine with it. Whatever it took for them to get out of there the fastest. Dioviccini should really invest in more parking places...

The illuminated theater came closer, and that brought some relief to his tension. When they spotted their cars out of the lot, their hands broke apart.

"You really shouldn't push yourself to come out here," Clara said, concern riddled in her voice. "If you are that uncomfortable, you might want to take more time off."

"And what?" he asked as he unlocked the driver's side door. "Put off facing the facts a few more days? Dread coming back?" John knew he was raising his voice in a tone that even he himself didn't like, and Clara's face told how she received it. "Look, I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be sorry." She approached him slowly. Clara wrapped her arms around his neck. He winced slightly, his bruises having been touched, but ultimately eased at her embrace.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Clara pulled out of the hug and smiled at him. "John, don't thank me. That's what friends are for." She moved back towards her ride. "I'll see you around some time, eh?"

He smiled and waved. "Of course."


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello, again. Glad to see that you're still reading. Chicken soup for my soul. Thank you. **

**I would have updated earlier this morning, but Teen Titans: Trouble in Tokyo was on this morning. (sniff) It was so much better then...**

**Alright, I made chapter from the Doctor's, or in this case John's, side of the story. AAAAANNNNNDDDDD, I decided to add a little whump. Don't be mad at me. **

**I do not any of the Lana del Rey songs. However, if you know which song of hers I have quoted, leave your answer with your review. (Well, you don't have to.) And if you're correct, I'll feature you as the winner in the next update! I know its not much, but you also get virtual cookies! (::)**

**I do not own Doctor Who. All credit goes to BBC.**

* * *

John had suffered from insomnia as long as he could remember. Given the current circumstances and his condition, sleep was not something that was in the very near future.

He was on his back, staring at the white ceiling while thoughts swam around in his head. In one section of his brain, he was reviewing all of the lines and lyrics for the next show that was going to be released next month. In yet another corner, he was thinking about the dinner he had eaten with Clara. The stunning image of her in that dress was not about to leave, and he was glad.

However, the memory that was dominating his mind was not one of pleasure and peace.

_In an instant, he had gone from a standing position to a decrepit state on the asphalt. The world around him seemed to blur, each second passing as if it were a full minute._

_There was only one man committing the crime, but he had the strength of ten. John tried his best not to whimper, lest something gruesome happen to him. The bat in the man's hand cast a menacing glance over John, despite the fact that it had no physical eyes. _

_"Empty your pockets," the man ordered. His voice was hoarse and weak, but the tone was commanding and absolute. _

_"I don't have anything," John whimpered. It was the truth, but the man did not accept that answer._

_Out of the corner of his eye, John saw the wood come down through the air in his direction. If only his reflexes were just slightly faster, John could have avoided it. He let out a cry of pain, and he had enough common knowledge to know that a few of his ribs had not doubt been broken. _

_The man, deciding to take matters into his own hands, quite literally. He rolled John over onto his back and rummaged through every pocket in John's clothing. He was in his Doctor get-up, and all of his belongings were back in his dressing room. The man found nothing. _

_The criminal was obviously angered by the lack of supplies John had on him at the time. "What a waste," the man muttered. He took a few more swings and kicks to make himself feel better about the situation before running off. _

John rolled over in his bed, the sheets traveling with him.

_"Oh my god!"_

_John knew that voice too well, and he welcomed it. The vision of Jenna was blurry, but it was good for him to see a friendly face. _

_She ran her fingers through his hair. "Don't worry," she whispered. Her tone was comforting, but it quickly turned into one of panic. _

_"HEY!" If John was not currently injured, he would have winced from the noise. But, since he was already wincing from the pain, it was not necessary. _

_"HEY!" Jenna was using all the air in her lungs to get the attention of someone at the theater. "IT"S JOHN! GET HELP!"_

_Someone must have heard her. She turned her attention back to rubbing his scalp and murmuring things such as "Everything's going to be alright," and "Help's on the way."_

He was sweating now. Maybe the reason he suffered from insomnia was because of his brain wanting to replay his life story every time he went to bed...

_He hated hospitals. But here he was, in the back of an ambulance with an oxygen mask over his face. They were taking him to place that he dreaded the most. _

_The walls of the ambulance seemed to be closing in on him. Even with the mask, he was short of breath. The chaos between the first responders around him... had he been able to move without being in severe pain, he would gotten out of that vehicle as fast as he could. _

"Tea," John said as he got up from his bed. "Tea sounds good."

* * *

He had never really taken much to late-night television. In his mind, all it consisted of was shows full of off-color jokes and comedians poking fun at every thing in international news. But, here he was, listening to absurdly filthy words come out of a cartoon character's mouth.

Not that he refrained from saying some of those things in real life, but someone was always there to stop him before censorship was needed.

_Like Clara did._

He sighed, and stirred some milk and sugar into his cuppa. Had she not been there earlier that night, he was sure he would have had a breakdown. Technically, he would not have been near the restaurant had it not been for her. John had the day off, anyway.

_But you chose that place. Because you have to get comfortable around there. And Clara deserved a good dinner. _

John took a sip of his tea. It was scalding hot, and it was causing his mouth quite a bit of discomfort. But he kept drinking; it was just the way he preferred. Besides, it was more soothing to his throat than it was his tongue.

The television cut to a commercial for canned soup. Taking the hint from the universe, he turned off his television.

"Time for part two of the remedy..." He searched through his quite extensive CD collection for the one that was suited for the situation. John would have never, in a million years, traded his book and CD collection for a digital device that could hold them all as accessible media. No eReaders or MP3 players for him.

He pulled out his _Born to Die _album. John slipped the disc into the stereo system. The neighbors were going to complain about the noise, but they should have been used these late-night sessions by now. John flipped through the songs until he found the one he was looking for.

_"No one compares to you. I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side."_ Her voice had the flair that John liked. Well, the style was similar to his singling lines at the theater that were actually written by the staff.

And, just for the fun of it, he selected a book from his measly bookshelf, which was not near big enough to hold all of his novels. As he settled down onto his sofa, he deemed these three things adequate for keeping his memories at bay.

For that night, at least.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello everyone. Let's all give a round of applause (and virtual cookies) to MusicKeeper, who guessed which Lana del Rey song I referenced. "Dark Paradise" always reminded me of Little Mermaid... but oh well. If you guessed correctly after her, then you get stickers! I decided you deserved something for being so awesome. **

**MusicKeeper: I know! He always gets the crap in the show and in the fanfiction. I blame Moffat. (gives cookies)**

**magiclover: Thank you. (gives a sticker) **

**Someone: I hope you like Piglet! :) (gives a sticker) **

**Thank you once again for all of your support. For this chapter, we are going to visit the stories of both Clara and John. Clara's takes place the same night of the dinner, while John's occurs the following day. **

**I do not own Doctor Who. All credit goes to BBC.**

* * *

Clara was careful with her movements. Knowing her roommates, they had retired to their own rooms about an hour ago. As much as it would hurt to admit, she was not in the mood for arousing them and receiving the routine interrogation that night. It would be better if it waited until the morning.

She was confused, to say the least. In fact, during the drive back to the campus, she missed two of her turns because she was so deep in her own thoughts. Why would someone deliberately make themselves go back to a location that harbored such painful memories? Clara thought that whole "because I have to come around here sometime or another" response was simply ignorant.

If anything, she needed time to reflect on the situation. Sleep on it. They both had crossed the borders of acquaintanceship and had become blossoming friends. And she, Clara Oswald, would do anything for her friends. There was no reason for her not to be some sort of support system for John.

But she would not be free to ponder all the methods of showing him her kindness just yet. For two young women had reached the mutual decision to wait for their "impossible" friend to return.

As soon as Clara unlocked the door and crossed the threshold, they sprung to action, prepared to devour every detail fed to them.

"Thank goodness you're back!" Saris' exclamation took Clara by surprise. "SO, where did you go with John?"

"I-I didn't go anywhere with John," she half-whispered. In the back of her mind, she prayed the two would buy into her lie, however terrible it was.

"Tsk." Reese began to snicker uncontrollably. "Your lies are so horrible they're actually funny." She attempted to calm herself down. "We know you went out with John Smith."

Saris began to rub Clara's shoulders, which was nothing short of awkward. "It's alright. We're not jealous- any more."

The two burst in a laughing fit. Seizing the opportunity, Clara made a mad dash for her room.

"Hey, where are you going?" Reese asked as the door to Clara's room slammed shut.

The two young ladies followed suit, only to find the door locked. They then began to spout all sorts of phrases such as, "We're happy for you!" and "It was only a matter of time before we found out about it." Reese was particularly fond of saying, "Don't do anything in the back seat of my car."

Clara kept track of the time it took for them to take the hint and leave her alone. All in all, twenty minutes had passed before _both _of her roommates had interest in other things.

As she sat down on the bed, she decided that she was thankful that she was at least on her roommate's radar. They at least cared enough about her life enough to want to know how she was doing.

_Who is on your personal radar? _She hated voices in her head, but it was pointless to ignore them, since they never truly left her mind unless she entertained them.

"John," she muttered.

_Do you wish that you were more than friends?_

Clara laughed, since it was insane that was creating a conversation with herself. She did not answer, for she did not know the exact answer. She was satisfied with being his friend, but she could not shake his image from her mind. He was not only handsome, but he was a great actor and singer.

"You've put me in a tight corner," she whispered to herself, as weird as that may sound. "But the facts are true. I am thinking about him, and I am hoping that he is thinking about me."

* * *

_The next morning..._

* * *

John was dreading rehearsal. He did not want to hear "We are so grateful that you're back," and "I am so glad that you're doing better." In all truth, he was not better. He wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep the day away. But he was the star of the show, and his job was to smile and say, " Thank you. I couldn't stay away from the theater for long."

John stared at himself in the mirror in his dressing room. He had received many cards and messages of well wishes, and many people had offered their help whenever John needed it. He was grateful for all of the aid in his recovery.

It was _her_. It was the effort that _she_ put forth that was helping him the most. They had barely known each other, and yet Clara came to visit him during his hospital stay. It was that hug that she gave him that helped him through that awful moment after dinner was over. It was the words that she had spoken to him that comforted him when he walked across the parking lot earlier that morning to get to the theatre.

John hated to admit it, but she was leaving an imprint on his heart that he knew would not lead to good. But he enjoyed her company. Her face was displayed before him every time he shut his eyes. He was thinking about her, and he was wondering if she was thinking about him.

Near him sat a cup of special "throat tonic." He took a swig of the special brew and headed out to the stage.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello. Okay, I am sorry I have not updated in a while, it's just my life got crazy for like a day or so, and I had to deal with. (I am telling you some stupid people live on this planet!) Anyway, I have decided, to make up for my sins, I will now bestow upon all of you some virtual cookies and stickers with the update. **

**Also, I made a mistake at the end of chapter five (plot-wise, not grammar-wise.) And now I am owning up to it. **

**MusicKeeper: Angst? Oh, come one. We all like a little whump here and there. ;)**

**CandyMonkey360: I am glad you are enjoying it, friend.**

**Thank you once again for reading. We are going to follow John throughout the entire chapter. **

**I do not own Doctor Who. All credit goes to BBC.**

* * *

He was a wreck, to say the least. Rehearsal did not fare as well as he had hoped; his voice cracked as he sang some of the notes, and he flubbed almost every line he was given. To make things worse, many of the staff had asked him if he was feeling alright or if he needed to take a five minute break.

"Of course I need a break," John muttered as he flung his car keys onto the kitchen counter. Never before had he driven that fast to return to his flat. "I need a break from all of these people nagging me over an event in the past. I'm trying to move on, for Pete's sake." He leaned against that very same counter and ran his fingers through his hair.

The wireless home phone sat ominously in the corner of the counter. One red light was flashing, indicating that someone had called and left a message. John reached over and pressed a button on the main console.

_"Hey, John."_ The sound of her voice alone made him smile. _"Listen, I was wondering if maybe we could meet up, say Sunday? I knew the theater wasn't showing anything that day, since I looked it up, but I didn't know if you would be busy."_

John crossed his arms. So she had been thinking about him. Perhaps not as much as he was thinking about her, but he was in her thoughts for a certain amount of time. John was glad that his schedule for that day was so far empty. Clara continued, _"I, well, came up with something that I thought you might enjoy. My roommates are dying to meet you in person." _She chuckled, and he found himself laughing as well. _"They're the ones who helped me with your number. I, uh, didn't write it down the last time." _John stopped and deleted the message right when she began to recite her own phone number out of habit. She may not have remembered his, but he remembered hers.

John reasoned that he had no better things to do or better people to see that day, and he knew how fun it was to hang out with Clara. He picked up the receiver and began to press the numbered buttons. In his mind, he prayed that she would be there to pick up his call.

"Hey Clara!" Happiness sprang up in his chest. She had answered! "I was wondering if you were still free on Sunday."

* * *

"C'mon. Saris and Reese are about to wear themselves out with excitement." Clara lead him through the halls of the dormitories. It reminded him of his college days, though he did much more studying than the other guys he roomed with. Part of John, no, all of John wanted to be back earning his degree, since he had always dreamed of being so much more than an underground actor. But this was as close as he was going to get.

Clara opened the door marked _703_, which was surprisingly unlocked. The two young ladies who were behind the wooden entrance gasped, their eyes lighting up like the stars in the night sky. Their eyes almost had the glow that Clara's had, but not quite. One had poorly dyed blue hair, which reminded John of the police box prop he used in the production. The dark-skinned female reminded him of his main physician while he was in the hospital, Dr. Jones. Both began to bombard him.

"Ohmygod! I'm so happy you're here!"

Oh, how long are you going to stay? You can stay as long as you want. We really don't mind."

"Oh, don't listen to my friend. She's kind of- touched in the head."

Clara stepped between John and the ravenous fan girls. "Me and John are going to my room." Their was a sense of assertiveness in her voice that John had not seen come out of a woman in quite some time. "And we do not wish to be disturbed."

Both looked quite disappointed, but both were willing to give Clara what she demanded. The blue haired one stepped up and whispered what sounded like, "If I hear that mattress creak, I swear, we will break down that door and pull him off of you." Clara responded by giving her a meager slap on her face.

John was pulled into what he understood to be Clara's room by none other than she herself. He had no clue what to expect, but he had come to expect the unexpected. She waltzed over to her desk and began to fiddle with the papers, most pertaining to the classes she was taking. Occasionally, she would mumble something on the lines of, "I know its around here somewhere," and "I really need to get organized."

Finally, she found what she was looking for. Clara held up a packet of paper, as if she were an archaeologist discovering a rare piece of ancient history. She eagerly handed the typed document to him.

"Read it!" There was a flattering smile plastered across her lips. "It's fanfiction, of you!"

John laughed. The gesture was exceptionally kind. She truly was a fan of the theater, minus the two people she roomed with. "The Day of the Doctor?" he read aloud.

Clara nodded. "I worked really hard on it. I also had to, um." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Research some into the theater's past productions to get a feel for the other Doctors."

John sat down on her bed and read on. Clara had the creative gene, no doubt. And since he was close friends with Alex Kingston, he enjoyed the appearances of her character from beyond the grave.

"Clara." Her eyes widened. "I rather like it!"

She gasped. "You do?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "Wish I had the same skill you have, Clara."

"You're the actor among the two of us."

"Yes, I am." That response set a wave of sadness through his chest, memories of consequences coming back to center stage in his mind. He did his best to hide it, to be the actor he was supposed to be. She did not buy his ruse.

"What's wrong, John?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm fine." He had been saying that phrase so much that it was starting to create a foul taste in his mouth.

"John." It was one thing to simply say his first name. It was another to say it with such a sense of demand and sympathy. "You don't have to hide around me." How on earth was she able to deduce that? He was an actor. That was supposed to be impossible.

He felt tears welt up in his eyes, which was awkward for him. She sat down next to him, her gaze both concerned and soothing. Clara began to rub his back, which caused him to stiffen rather than relax, even if his bruises were fairing much better.

John looked straight into her irises. They were so much more different than everyone else's. They seemed more... _understanding. _It was not long before he completely fell apart.


	10. Chapter 10

**Phew, I have a lot of work to do. Good thing its summer, so I have extra time to do it all. Once again, thank you for all of your support. Really warms my heart. We will be following Clara's side of the story in this chapter. If you like a lot of fluff and love, then this is most definitely for you! I mean, it's full of it. There is also some very minor cursing at the end, but this story is rated for it. **

**And, I am sorry for the delay. I would have gotten it out sooner, but I could not resist. I accidently started working on an OCxDoctor story (well, the Doctor is more of the father figure to the OC, but still) ... It was too tempting!**

**OswinSmith: Thank you. That review made my day. I hope you enjoy this chapter. **

**I do not own Doctor Who. All credit goes to BBC.**

* * *

Clara was not sure how she got into this position. Her life had been prone to sudden changes whether for the good or the bad, one example being her mother's untimely death. But, at the time, even Clara was left dumbfounded at John's sudden outburst of emotion.

She had followed her instincts and had embraced her friend in a warm embrace. She knew she had probably said too much, and that had no doubt triggered something inside his mind. All she wanted to do was show him that she was there for him, to show him how much she (and her roommates) adored his work on the stage, enough that she even wrote her own version of the story. Apparently, she had overstepped some sort of line.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. His sobs were loud, broken. The salty drops of water leaking form his eyes created a soft, wet patch on her jacket. "I'm so sorry. That was wrong of me."

He broke apart from her arms. John's face was red, the whites of his eyes more so. With his sleeve, he cleaned his face of any bodily fluids. "No, it's n-not y-your fault," he managed. John hiccupped trying to breathe. "I-Its mine."

Clara was even more confused. "Why would it be your fault?"

He gave her a quick, shameful glance before getting up from the bed. He walked over to her desk and starred at the notebooks she had strewn across it. She watched him carefully, thanking God that she took a psychology class as a filler and knew a little on handling this type of situation.

John sighed. "Because it always is. If I hadn't-" he stopped, sighing again. "gone out there that night, if I hadn't left home, none of this would have happened."

Clara knew that John was probably not going to say anything else. But, much to her surprise, he kept going.

He turned to face her. The sadness in his eyes brought Clara to a new level of sympathy for him, despite how much he hated it. As he rang his fingers through his hair, John said more clearly than his previous statement, "But there's a catch."

"What would that be?" She unconsciously held her breath.

"I need to know something, Clara." He began to slowly advance in her direction. "No one, and dare I repeat, no one has ever eluded my thoughts like you have." John looked right into Clara's deep brown eyes. "No one has ever gotten me to open up except you."

He sat on the bed next to her. Clara could feel her heart pounding against her chest, aching to be out of her body. It's struggle rang in her ears, and she wondered if John could also hear the thumps of her vital muscle.

"Clara," he said, his voice shaking. "You have been popping into my life more and more ever since you won that tour a couple of weeks ago. And I need to know, I really do. Have I had the same effect on you?"

The girl who was said by friends and family to have been able to handle the impossible, the girl who was prone to sudden changes, was at a loss for a response. Her brain and her heart were quarreling with each other, logic in a vicious brawl with emotion. The very air she breathed was heavy, causing the whole moment to feel like a hallucination, like she had gone to the dentist and put under anesthesia. Finally, both her brain and her heart compromised on a question, hoping that the response would better determine the fate of their war.

"A-are you saying that you love me, John?"

"Yes." The word was not hesitated upon, and it knocked that heavy air right out of Clara.

Oh, did the battle begin to rage then. Clara remembered that night when she had first gone to the theater, the night when she and John shared some spectacular Italian and ran through the streets to avoid being caught by imaginary felons, the night that she stayed up late working on her own version of the production. She also remembered those hours she spent wondering if John had really cared about her as deep as she did about him. She was being so stressed out about someone saying that they loved her! She could feel the sweat about to emerge from her pores and ruin her makeup. She could feel they gray hairs staining her perfect hair color.

And it was all stopped with a simple response. A single word. A single word that would decide everything. With a small smile sewn across her lips, Clara said. "Yes."

He stared at her in disbelief. He expected a negative answer.

"I do feel the same, John," Clara whispered. "I know this is insanely awkward, and my roommates are going to flip if they find out I do, but..." She leaned in close. "You've caused me to face the facts."

He giggled, the man riddled with sorrow replaced with one of joy and of love. Before their lips touched, John whispered, "You really are impossible sometimes, you know it?" The pale rims of his mouth locked in with her rosy-pink colored ones.

Clara could not deny that John was a good kisser. He was very _delicate _when his lips entered hers and when they exited. She knew she had average kissing skill, but bloody hell...


	11. Chapter 11

**Over two thousand views... I might cry. No, I won't. Even if my mascara is waterproof. But your support- oh, it must be a blessing from above. You all get cider from Sweet Apple Acres to help celebrate. (And if you understand that reference, you are even more awesome.) Anyway, I hope all of you John fans are happy, since we are going to follow his side of the story in this chapter. **

**sassywriterhick: I see you enjoyed reading about the kiss. ;) **

**ilovejacksparrow44: Sorry, bro. But I cannot write smut. I hope you can forgive me. **

**I do not own Doctor Who. (And if I did, Amy and Rory would have made it to the end of season seven and would have CHOSEN to leave the Doctor. Like Martha.) All credit goes to BBC.**

* * *

Her lips were soft against his. Some of her lip gloss rubbed off on his tongue. John enjoyed the synthetic cherry flavor of the adolescent lip balm as much as the kiss. Clara was more- _orderly_when she kissed. No offence to Alex, but her drool got everywhere, and it was even harder to hide all that saliva when you were in the spotlight on a stage.

When they broke apart, Clara started giggling. John gave her a confused look. Did he do something funny? Did a random thought pop into her head that caused her to go on a laughing spree? Was she simply giggling for the fun of it? He could recall some instances were he had done the same, out of happiness. But he still asked. "What's wrong?"

She looked at him with a bright smile that revealed her dimples. "Nothing," Clara giggled. "It's not everyday you fall in love."

He returned a weak grin. "Yeah. It isn't." He came in and planted another smooch on her cheek. He knew the talc powder foundation was not going to taste as good as the lip gloss, so he wiped his mouth with his sleeve when he was finished.

Blood rushed into her cheeks, rendering the coral-colored blush she had applied earlier that day useless. "Oh my goodness," she whispered and giggled again.

John abandoned all sense of logic and planted a few more smooches on her face. She kept giggling, and he absolutely loved the sound of it. She was absolutely stunning when she was this happy, even more so than normal.

"St-stop it!" It was hard to take her seriously when she was that happy. Finally, John felt two home-manicured hands touch his ginormous jaw bones and pull him away from her. Her eyes searched him intensively. "My turn," she whispered and planted a snog of her own on _his _forehead. It lasted much longer than his, almost as long as the lip-locked one they shared just moments earlier.

She released him. "Does this mean we are in a relationship now?"

John felt a "yes" come forth from his lips before he even thought about it, before he could even stop it. Not that he wanted to.

There was a loud banging on the door to Clara's room, which the boyfriend and girlfriend to jump. "YOU TWO BETTER NOT BE DOING ANYTHING I WOULDN'T DO!" John recognized the voice of the young lady yelling as the one with the unnaturally dyed hair who gave him a hard time when he first arrived.

"Don't worry Saris!" Clara replied. She shot John a glance. "You wouldn't be able to do anything with my man in the first place."

* * *

John had been so happy to have been able to keep the copy of Clara's story. Not only did he now have in his possession what was, in his opinion, one of the greatest things he had ever read simply because the woman he loved wrote it, but because of what he planned to do with it. She had no idea, but if it worked, John knew she was going to be ecstatic.

The first thing that John did when he entered the theater the next morning was waltz right into his boss's office with his head held high. Mr. Moffat enjoyed his actors standing tall and proud in real life and on the stage, even if they were portraying shyer characters. That was the main reason he was casted for his role at the theater, since he did not shy away when he performed his dances.

He knocked on the already open door to Moffat's office. He did not barge in because it would be rude but also since his boss seemed very engrossed in a memo he was reading.

"Oh! Smith!" Moffat set the sheet of paper on top of others that were already on his desk. "Come on in." He motioned to one of the chairs situated in front of the piece of mahogany office furniture.

"Good morning, Mr. Moffat." John sat down in one of the chairs. He immediately sank into the cushion, which in turn caused the aged leather to crunch under his body weight. Maybe he should go through with that diet he was considering... "I was wondering if I could discuss something with you."

Steven Moffat straightened up his posture. "What is it, Smith? Wage not enough?"

"Oh no sir!" he quickly exclaimed. "I wanted to talk about the last production we were going to introduce for this half of the year."

"Oh? Well, I'll be honest with you, John. You've seen how its been coming along."

"Yes. Which is why I think this will help."

"What are you proposing, John?"

He carefully removed the original copy of Clara's work from his coat. It made thing seem more theatrical, and as an actor, it was his job to make things of real life seem more than what they were. He laid the story out in front of his boss.

"Smith? What's gotten into you?"

"Well, I-I was just wondering if, you know, you wanted to-"

Moffat raised his hand so John would not make a mockery of himself while trying to explain. He flipped through a few pages. "Well, I can take it, considering the circumstances. I will have to make some minor changes to make it suitable for the musical stage, but I will consider it no less."

John felt that his chest had been relieved of pressure and given a different form of it. He got up with a newfound hope. "Thank you, sir."

"Just get to rehearsal." Moffat pulled out a red pen. "Oh John, wait! Who's this Clara?"

"She's, well, my girlfriend."

"She's got an audacious creativity, I'll give her that."

* * *

**Okay, I know my author's notes are usually at the top, but I need to say something. I wanted Clara to write the Day of the Doctor, since I think Moffat just wants to see us cry after every episode. (And I know the episodes that are aired at the theater are not in order in which they were on TV and that there are a few I left out. Just so no one gets on my case...) That's all. Have a nice day. **


End file.
